


The Sick Little Archer

by AlyKat



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (2012), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Gen, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Pre-Slash, Sick Character, Sickfic, hiding being sick, strep throat
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-26
Updated: 2013-05-26
Packaged: 2017-12-13 01:47:13
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,409
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/818529
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AlyKat/pseuds/AlyKat
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Clint hadn’t ever had the option in life to admit to being sick. Sickness was what happened to other people. Not Clint Barton.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Sick Little Archer

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Ralkana](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ralkana/gifts).



> Disclaimer: Marvel's toys, I'm just playing with them still.

AN: Written as a Tumblr fic for Ralkana who was coughing up a storm the other day. Unbeta'd and therefore all mistakes and flubs are mine and mine alone. 

* * *

 

Clint coughed into his sleeve. This was the fifth fit in the same amount of time. His throat felt like he was swallowing down shards of glass and chills kept racing down his spine. He wasn’t sick though. No sir. Allergies, it had to be. A sudden on-set of never before documented allergies.

It didn’t explain why he felt so sluggish though. Or why he was having such trouble swallowing even a sip of water or warm tea. Or why he really just wanted to put his head down and –

“Barton. Clint?”

A hand on his shoulder startled him, jerking him upright and with his eyes wide open as he spun to find the source. Phil Coulson was standing next to him, a strange and foreign look on his face. There was something in his eyes that the archer had never seen before. It was an expression that was maybe borderline concern.

“Uh, yeah…hey…what’s –“

“Barton, are you sick?”

His eyes widened as he sat a little straighter, clearing his throat with only a hint of a cringe. “N-No, Sir. Allergies.”

It was a weak lie. Weak and pathetic and so bad that even he felt ashamed for having said it. Phil’s arms crossed over his chest as he raised an eyebrow at him questioningly. No, the older agent didn’t believe him for a minute, that much was obvious. Clint groaned weakly as a coughing fit wracked his body and he folded himself back over the edge of the table. He didn’t even fight when he felt himself being pushed back up gently, a cool hand pressed to his forehead and then to his cheek.

“Your hands are cold, Sir…” he ground out, his voice sounding tight and rough despite the small smile on his face.

“No, they’re fine. You’re burning up.” Phil gently hoisted Clint to his feet, dipped down a bit to put the man’s arm over his shoulder, and carefully led the way down to medical.  “Why didn’t you tell someone you weren’t feeling well, Barton?”

Clint leaned into Phil, head lulling to the side to rest on the man’s shoulder.

“Always told to…just suck it up…an’ get over it…Sir.” He coughed again, an actual whimper leaving his mouth after he finished. “Even as a kid got told to suck it up…”

Phil sighed, heavily. Of course. Clint hadn’t ever had the option in life to admit to being sick. Sickness was what happened to other people. Not Clint Barton. Frowning but remaining quiet, Phil slowly walked them through the halls and to the medical wing. Nurses stopped dead in their tracks when they saw them. Some even swore under their breath. No one liked dealing with Hawkeye, and they liked it even less when Coulson was the one to bring him in.

There was one though, a young woman with a sweet face and kind eyes, who stepped through the wall of nurses and approached. She was still fairly new doctor, but she’d been around long enough to know why the others hated their lives whenever Clint walked through the doors. Or hobbled. Or was wheeled…whenever. Still, she’d taken an oath and she felt sorry for the man. With a sad smile on her face, she moved to brace herself on Clint’s other side.

“What seems to be the matter, Agent Barton?”

“Nuffin’…’m fine…”

“He’s burning a fever, coughing, from the sounds of it his throat is probably extremely sore, fatigue, and I haven’t seen him eat in twenty-four hours.”

“You stalk me, Boss? Dat’s sweet…”

The doctor, Carol Peters her tag said, gave a small nod as she maneuvered them into an exam room and had Phil help get Clint up on the table and stayed sitting up. Pulling on a pair of gloves, she picked a pen light up off the table and gently pressed down on Clint’s chin.

“Okay, Agent Barton. Be the sweetheart I know you can be and open up so I can take a look see.”

Clint grumbled under his breath but opened his mouth anyway, tongue pressed down so she could get a better look at his throat. Carol’s eyes widened for a fraction of a second before she glanced up at Phil and then back at Clint’s mouth.

“You two haven’t shared any drinks lately, have you? Or food? Or…air?”

“We shared a coffee a couple of days ago, and he’s always in my office—“

Carol patted Clint’s shoulder as she pulled back and tossed her gloves in the trash. “I don’t need a test to know what he’s got and to know that you, Agent Coulson, need to be put on antibiotics immediately as well.”

Clint groaned and slumped down onto the table. He didn’t like the sounds of this. Phil frowned and knit his eyebrows together.

“Why is that?”

“Take a look at the strawberries that have replaced Agent Barton’s tonsils and you tell me. It doesn’t take a genius to recognize strep throat when you see it. I can do the rapid strep test if you’d like, but I’ve had strep enough in the past that I’m fairly certain I don’t need to.”

Phil glanced to Clint and thought for a moment. The man was miserable enough as it was.

“Do the test just to be sure. You can check me too.” He sat down on the table next to Clint, his hand coming to rest comfortingly on the man’s thigh. Carol nodded as she picked up two swabs and made her way back to them. She dabbed at the back of Coulson’s throat first, set the stick in a container and then did the same for Clint.

“I’ll be back in a few minutes.”  

Clint groaned pathetically as he hoisted himself back up to lean into his handler, falling limp into him like a rag doll. With a small smile on his face, Phil wrapped his arm around Clint’s shoulder and pulled him in closer. It was about time someone took care of the archer when he wasn’t feeling well and provided the comfort he so desperately was seeking, even if he wasn’t admitting to it. His fingers gently carded through Clint’s hair, brushing away the thin layer of sweat that had formed at the back of his neck. He pressed his cheek to the top of Barton’s head and just sat there, gently holding him as they waited for Dr. Peters to return.

When she did, she had two scripts in her hands. Her sad smile in place, she handed both to Phil. One had his name written on it, the other Clint’s. The name of an antibiotic was scrawled across them both, along with a suggestion for ibuprofen.

“Here, take these to the pharmacy. You may want to think about picking up a couple of new toothbrushes while you’re out. Make sure Agent Barton takes the antibiotic. If he doesn’t, he’ll have to be pulled from duty until he’s no longer contagious. Both of you get plenty of rest. No over working and definitely no range time for him.”

“So it is strep then?”

“’Fraid so. And given how much time you two spend together, and how closely,” She raised an eyebrow at how Clint seemed to have wrapped himself into Phil and already started to doze off, “You won’t be far behind him. Start the antibiotics as soon as possible, Agent Coulson. I have the feeling Agent Barton is going to need some TLC for the first few days.”

Her smile was sweet and kind as she patted Phil’s knee and moved to head out of the room. Sighing, Phil pocketed the scripts and moved to press his lips gently to Clint’s head. The man groaned softly and shoved his face harder into Phil’s chest, fingers curled into his jacket tightly.

With a sigh, Phil turned to rest his cheek on soft hair again. They’d sit there for a little while longer before he’d wake Clint up again so they could go get their prescriptions filled. The sniper needed rest after all and who was Phil to shy from the chance of being his human pillow? Arm tightening around him, Phil huffed softly.

“From now on, Barton, tell me when you aren’t feeling well…”


End file.
